


clean and warm

by the_ragnarok



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Brief internalized ableism, Disabled Character, Hair Washing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 23:14:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21737290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_ragnarok/pseuds/the_ragnarok
Summary: Martin cooed in sympathy. "Tired, are you? Of course you are." As though he hadn't taken half of Jon's weight all day, as though he wasn't literally carrying Jon right now. "I could wash you, if you like."
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 13
Kudos: 433





	clean and warm

Jon lost his cane at some point earlier, when they were escaping the pack of hellhounds that occupied the last village they passed. He'd made do since then, limping and leaning on Martin and, when all else failed, gritting his teeth and walking through the pain. 

Now they found somewhere to lie down for the night, at the edge of a little town. Martin started for the bedrooms on the bottom floor when Jon shook his head. "Danger?" Martin said, tensing up. Jon shook his head. "Oh. Just something I'm better off not seeing?"

Jon nodded emphatically. He quite wishes he didn't have to See the inside of those bedrooms, himself. 

Martin looked at the staircase and frowned, looking at Jon. "Can you make it?"

Did he have a choice? He was bloody well going to. Jon grit his teeth and started walking.

He was halted by Martin's gentle hand on his shoulder. "I could pick you up and carry you," Martin said. He looked wary, but not embarrassed or flustered as he would have been only a scant few weeks ago. 

Those weeks have taken their toll of Jon, as well. He was about to protest on reflex, then he sagged. He already had to fight for an entire doomed world. He just didn't have the energy to maintain his pride. He nodded. 

Martin swept him up into a bridal carry, one arm under Jon's knees, the other supporting his upper back. Jon hung there, limp and bemused. Martin walked briskly toward the stairs, as though Jon weighted nothing at all. 

"Do you want to wash?" Martin said when they were at the top of the stairs. "I think I saw a bathroom. Maybe there's even hot water."

 _Optimist_. Jon rested his head against Martin's chest. He made a low noise. 

Martin cooed in sympathy. "Tired, are you? Of course you are." As though he hadn't taken half of Jon's weight all day, as though he wasn't literally carrying Jon right now. "I could wash you, if you like."

"Martin." Jon didn't talk much these days but he made an exception for Martin's name. Both of them needed to remember who they are. He thinks his warning tone is enough. 

There was a bedroom just to their right. Martin carefully put Jon back on his feet. "Are you sure? You'll sleep much better if you're clean." Martin hesitated. "Of course, if you don't want me touching you like that--"

That was light years away from anything Jon intended. He grabbed Martin's shirt and pulled him towards the bed. 

Martin held his hands up. "Wait, wait a moment. Jon, are you trying to tell me to rest?"

Jon caught his eyes and firmly nodded. 

Martin burst into faintly hysteric giggles. They calmed a minute or two later, and he said, "You know what's funny? I'll rest better if you're clean, too." Jon surreptitiously attempted to sniff his own armpit, and Martin giggled again. "Not like that, you idiot. I'll just rest easier knowing you are as well as I can make you." He delivered the words with such simplicity, as though that thought was the most natural in the world. 

How they got from there to the claw-foot tub the next room over, Jon couldn't say. The moments blurred together in what might have been supernatural or, more likely, his growing fatigue. 

Martin took Jon's clothes off him efficiently, folded them aside and tested the water's temperature. "Anywhere I shouldn't touch while I'm washing you?" Jon shrugged. "So, everywhere is fine?" Nod. 

When Martin judged the water warm enough, he reached to Jon. "Can I pick you up again?"

The sides of the tub were high and Jon's flexibility wasn't doing well. He could probably have clambered into the tub, but it was just as well not to have to. He allowed Martin to scoop him up and deposit him in the water. 

The first touch of hot water to Jon's skin had him hissing, then waving off Martin's concern. Martin ought to know how it feels to go from numbing cold back into sensation. 

Martin encouraged him to lay his head back, and poured water over Jon's hair with a cup he found by the sink. He massaged shampoo into his hair, strong fingers kneading Jon's scalp until he groaned. 

He might have fallen asleep. He definitely had his eyes shut, and he remembered snatches of contact: Martin scrubbing his back, washing his chest, a quick pass of washcloth between Jon's legs that was done before Jon registered it properly. And more water on his hair, long after all the soap should have washed out. Jon hummed and tilted his head, the better to feel the water everywhere.

Jon blinked, groggy: he was standing up and Martin was patting him dry with a stiff hand towel. "It's all I found," Martin said, a touch defensive, when he saw Jon looking at it.

Jon took Martin's hand, still holding the towel, and kissed his knuckles. 

"Oh," Martin said, infinitely soft. He waited for Jon's permission before picking him up again and depositing him on the bed. "I'll just be a moment."

Jon drifted, lost in an expanse of fluffy blankets and sheets, until Martin shuffled into bed by his side. Martin smelt clean, felt damp and warm. Jon wriggled so they touched as much as possible. 

"Shh." Martin slid his fingers into Jon's wet hair. "Sleep, now."

Jon clung to him, as though Martin's solid presence could ward off every bad dream.


End file.
